


the problem with pursuing someone

by Alethia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Canon Era, Drinking, M/M, Nate POV, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Pre-Slash, Public Blow Jobs, Shore Leave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-02
Updated: 2009-06-02
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>…you just might find him in a compromising position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the problem with pursuing someone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romanticalgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/gifts).



> This story is based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, _Generation Kill_ , as written by Ed Burns and David Simon and as portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and others. It is a work of fiction ergo it never happened.
> 
> Comment!porn for L. Originally posted on [LJ](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/371898.html).

Nate was slightly tipsy. Not full-out drunk – conduct unbecoming an officer and all that, plus the guys would lovingly recount it from now until Armageddon, an eventuality Nate was hell-bent on avoiding – but he'd admit he was hardly sober enough to drive. 

Thus it was fortuitous that they were in Sydney and he wouldn't be expected to serve as the designated driver, the respectable officer amongst his crew of sloshed louts. Nice when life worked out like that.

So Nate was tipsy, but everyone else was drunk. No, that didn't do it justice. His men weren't just drunk; they were appalling, cacophonous lushes who'd imbibed such a volume they were half- pickled. They'd proven quite convincingly what classless boozehounds they were and if any innocent bystanders had a remaining doubt, they'd just achieved the decibel level to sway even the fiercest of holdouts. Granted, most innocent bystanders had scurried along some time ago. Keen survival instincts, there.

The mere thought of a bar full of drunk Marines made the space behind Nate's eyes hurt. The reality…well. It kind of had to be experienced to appreciate the full effect. Which made one want to avoid it for all time thereafter. 

Brad would have many choice things to say about ugly Americans and the decline of the warrior culture, possibly all of civilization itself, Nate was fuckin' assured of this. He'd – 

Where was Brad, anyway? 

Nate peered around the bar, through the maze of people and their desperation-tinged carousing. No Brad in sight and Brad, well, he tended to stick out. By the 'fuck off' sphere of personal space he maintained if nothing else.

Nate drained the rest of…whatever was in his glass. It might be an insult to call it beer. Brad would surely have thoughts on that. He set his glass down and left a tip all the same. Then he swung around on the stool and stood.

Too fast, apparently, because it took a moment for the room to refocus. Yeah, definitely feeling the alcohol. He could thank the Marines for that, the abstinence demanded by war.

Abstinence, ha. 

Nate merely shook off the disorientation and headed for the nearest door. Brad, like the smart boy he was, probably bailed as soon as he sensed the guys had crossed the line from rowdy-but-amusing to intolerably plastered. It was a difficult line to anticipate. Had a habit of creeping up on you. Well, not if you were the Iceman, but for mere mortals, anyway.

Nate stepped outside and blinked at the gloaming hour: neither day nor night, a hesitant half-step between. Huh. They hadn't been here for very long. Good to know. 

He breathed deep, feeling his head clear a little. Then he scoped out the surrounding area, sure he could gauge what would capture Brad's interest. Off like a man in love at the first _hint_ of a shiny gadget store. Or a brothel, come to think.

These were things Nate probably shouldn't make a point to know.

But that was beside the point. The point was to find Brad and sadly, no nearby store employed garish signs to offer microchips. Or hookers. For shame. 

Nate set off in the likeliest direction, glad that he was sure enough on his feet. He didn't really know why he glanced down the alley – instinct borne of training that had been beaten into him, maybe. 'Anticipate any avenues of attack. Keep command of your surroundings.' Whatever.

No attack was forthcoming, but Nate's glance did reveal a very familiar figure. Knee-jerk recognition made him still. Already he'd found his target and he'd barely taken a dozen steps. He was _just that good_. 

The exhilaration of victory hit him first, but fast upon that: a gathering dread.

Brad was looking down. Down at the civilian kneeling in front of him. Brad had one hand gripped tight in short, light brown hair, and he was moving –

Nate flushed. Heat swept through him from somewhere deep in his gut, up his neck, to his cheeks. Damned fair skin; it always gave him away. Luckily no one watched him now.

Because he was busy watching Brad, who was watching that civilian on the ground give him a twilight blowjob in the alley beside the bar. The simple thought made Nate want to flush; the reality made him want to back away in a hurry.

Curiously, his body stayed right where it was, unmoving.

Not like Brad, who was moving but not to get away, quick little swivels of his hips, holding the civilian's – the _man's_ – head in place as he thrust into his mouth. Tension made his shoulders taut; Nate could spot that a mile off, even if he couldn't see Brad's eyes. 

Not that he wanted to, not at this moment, this very private moment which Nate should not be watching. Then again, Brad mustn't think it a private moment given he was in an alley and all. 

Which wasn't any kind of invitation, but right, why was Nate still here?

Riveted didn't even begin to cover what he felt. Intellectually, he knew he should back off, look away, maybe even play lookout so no one _else_ stumbled over Brad's covert assignation with a random Sydney resident – and had he worked through that it was a _male_ Syndey resident? Because…that did not begin to compute – but Nate did none of those things. Instead he watched as the guy gripped Brad's hips for balance, just letting him fuck his mouth. 

Murmured words, Nate couldn't hear what, slight change of angle, and then Brad's other hand framed the guy's face as he fucked deeper. Deep-throating – that guy knew how to suck cock – and Brad loved it, biting his lip to keep from making noise, all that attention focused squarely on the mouth around his dick.

Nate's dick twitched. 

Brad's eyes snapped to his. Some vague portion of Nate's brain informed him he must have shifted, made some sound, though he had no idea what gave him away, no memory of it, either. The dominant part of his brain was busy cataloguing the look in Brad's eyes – unfocused glaze of pleasure shifting to startled recognition in a nanosecond. His hips stuttered, rhythm faltering as he thrust deep. 

"Nate." It could have been an exhale, there was room for doubt there – 

Brad's eyes fluttered closed, face twisted in the most exquisite pained-pleasure. 

Nate's insides twisted with… _something_. He was watching another guy come. He was watching another guy's _face_ as he came and if he wanted to talk about private moments, moments no outsider should see, moments Nate shouldn't _want_ to see, not with his guys – 

But this wasn't just 'his guys,' was it? It was Brad. And that made all the difference. Nate knew very well that it shouldn't. Shouldn't make any difference at all, but there it was.

Brad held the guy's head, coming down his throat, ecstasy written all over his face. The kid wasn't even choking, just gripped Brad tighter, prolonging what had to be the most drawn-out orgasm _ever_. 

Or possibly Nate's sense of time was all fucked. It wouldn't be the only thing.

Brad rocked through it and the part of Nate's brain that had not checked out reminded him that he'd seen Nate, would see Nate again when he opened his eyes, would pin Nate with a look and then they'd have to actually discuss all the orgasmic bliss he'd just witnessed and Nate really, really couldn't handle that. Not when he was half-hard himself, half-drunk, and wholly stupid. 

_That_ impending disaster finally knocked something loose because Nate backed away before he consciously made the decision. A few steps concealed Brad from sight and Nate finally registered he was breathing hard, flushed and aroused, shaken far more than he should be.

Fuck. 

***

Fin. Comments are adored.


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